The setting sun nestles, then sleepily nests,
In the shaded folds of a place of rest,
That only the mountains make.
Like the sleepy-eyed child,
Who searches out
Mother's soft embrace, with a satisfied pout,
Suckles safe at the close of each day.
The challenge of the lofty peak,
Best taken at high mid-day,
If it's breathtaking panoramas we seek,
Hard work is the only way!
But the mountaineer pauses at eventide,
In his rocking-chair valley,
Neither deep nor too wide,
With old and young family by his side,
To watch the hills receive the end of day.
